


Scars of the Mind

by rowandaze



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e03 The Good Traitor, M/M, Other, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowandaze/pseuds/rowandaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis tries to hold it together when his worry for the Dauphin causes Porthos's capture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine. If only they were......

Constance’s words shake Aramis to his very core. The words fever and sick run around his head in his circles as he tries to ground himself. He tries to pull himself together enough so that the others don’t see his fear, see his terror and he does a good job. He is on edge, granted, they all see that but they’ve a mission to carry out and Porthos and d’Artagnan attribute that to the nervous tension that radiates from Aramis. It is Athos who knows better. He knows that so much more lies behind the jittery façade of their friend. And he wishes to god he didn’t know. And he wishes to god there was nothing to know. 

Aramis feels blind panic the moment he watches Porthos go down. A fury is unleashed when Porthos is taken. A fury at himself for his stupid, stupid mistake and a fury at those who think it is alright to take Porthos. His rage is barely contained. A tremor has taken up in his hands and bile swirls nauseously in his stomach. Sweat drenches his hair and his clothes feel too tight. His eyes have taken on a wild look, one that d’Artagnan has never seen before and would not be ashamed to admit scares him a little. 

Five lives lost in the ambush. Five lives lost. Porthos and the girl taken. Five lives all innocent. Innocent like the Dauphin. Five lives lost. The girl taken. Porthos taken. And his mind is a jumble of words and faces. Dead bodies. Always dead bodies and more piling up. He mumbles to himself as he bandages a wounded man’s arm, sweat pooling at the base of his back, hands cold and trembling and then he out and out lies to Athos. It’s all he can do. He can’t tell the truth. He can’t say that his mind wandered, that fear for his son allowed his closest friend to be taken. He can’t let them know that he let them down so. 

He says it over and over in his mind and maybe just maybe he might begin to believe the lie but it hurts and his head throbs and the scar of Savoy makes itself known at his temple like it does every time things become too much. And he wants Porthos back now. He wants him safe and whole and he wants to be held in his arms. Porthos could soothe the ache at the scar, big hands carding his hair like he always knows to do. Porthos could calm the jumble of his mind. No more dead bodies in his mind. Porthos could chase them away. And god how he wants him, to apologise, to beg forgiveness for letting him get hurt. He always let them get hurt. The ones he loves. Somehow. He thinks maybe he is cursed and oh god please take the dead bodies away. 

Athos watches him carefully. Aramis can be a dangerous man, all smiles and charm but lethal beyond compare. He also knows that Aramis’s nerves can only be stretched so far before he becomes ruthless in his bid to get Porthos back or snaps into a mumbling, quaking mess. He sees the signs, the tremors, the way Aramis keeps rubbing at the scar hidden by his hair. 

d’Artagnan casts uneasy glances and Athos worries Treville will soon notice. As they near the garrison Athos halts in steps and pulls Aramis by the arm to the side of building. Aramis heart races faster, he free hand reaching for his temple. Athos stops him, raises his hand to the scar carefully place his fingers over it. He isn’t Porthos but the action soothes the ache for a moment and the dead bodies fall silent in Aramis’s mind. “We will find him.” Athos says calmly and confidently. “We will find him and you will patch up his leg and all will be well”. He eyes bore into Aramis’s willing the wild look to settle, willing some calm into his addled friend.

Athos wants to say something about the Dauphin but he can’t do it. He can’t say something about something he shouldn’t know about. Aramis takes a strangled breath, like he knows what Athos isn’t saying and Athos place his other hand on Aramis’s neck “Please my friend, you must remain in control. For Porthos. Can you do that?” and he runs his fingers in circles over the scar and he wishes his friend didn’t suffer so, that Savoy hadn’t left such a mark. Aramis breathes deeply, the ache dropping to a mild nuisance, the last of the dead bodies leaving him in peace. His eyes become focused and he looks Athos straight in the eye “I can” he answers in a voice much stronger than Athos expects. “Come then, let us get some answers so we can bring Porthos home”. And Aramis pulls Athos into his embrace for the briefest of moments before collecting himself further, shoulders straight, head held high, his mind quietened and begins to walk, every bit the soldier he is. 

Aramis doesn’t give a damn about Tariq. He would kill him where he sits if he thought it would get Porthos back safely. He knocks over the table, he is razor focussed. Nothing will stop him from getting Porthos back. He doesn’t think of the Dauphin. He doesn’t think of the arrow in Porthos’s leg. He doesn’t think of the fever taking the breathe from his infant soon. He doesn’t think of the fever that could be raging in the body of his closest friend. He doesn’t think. He fights. It’s a short fight and he is brutal but he doesn’t give a damn. Porthos is alive. 

He goes to him and Porthos all but falls into his arms and it is the most beautiful weight Aramis has ever felt. Propped up at the fountain, Porthos refuses to let Aramis check his leg “There is no time for doctorin’” and while Aramis knows he is right he doesn’t like it. He brushes his hand over Porthos forehead “no fever, thank god. Here drink this” and gives Porthos a small vial of medicine he had prepared earlier “It won’t make you sleepy” he answers Porthos’s unspoken question and Porthos grimaces at the smell and almost retches at the taste “sweet Jesus, what did you put in that?” Porthos chokes out and Aramis laughs and for just a moment Athos hears him and feels relieved.  
In the quiet aftermath of the explosion Aramis cares for nothing but ensuring that Porthos is alright. He doesn’t care that Athos is holding his arm protectively around his middle nor that Treville and d’Artagnan may have hurts. He doesn’t care that his own ears are ringing. He just bolts up and reaches for Porthos who is valiantly trying to stop Samara. Porthos who is swaying more than ever now and whose leg crumbles as he uses all his strength to stay upright. 

Aramis somehow passes Samara off to Treville. He has sympathy for the girl but his only concern is for Porthos who, relieved of his burden, falls ungracefully into a pained heap on the ground, fresh blood sweeping from his wound. “Captain, I need to get Porthos out of here” he implores Treville with eyes wide and dark. Treville looks around, surveying the damage, looking for hurts. Athos looks uncomfortable but waves off his concerned look, “d’Artagnan, flag down a cart” the captain orders. It is with some difficulty that they get Porthos into the cart and head for the garrison. He would rather his rooms but the garrison is closer and he knows there is no point arguing with Aramis. 

It’s an effort to get Porthos into the infirmary. He is in no immediate danger so d’Artagnan and Athos leave him to Aramis’s more than capable care “d’Artagnan” Aramis calls as they leave the room “Check Athos’s ribs, bind them if you feel anything shift”. d’Artagnan nods and Athos grunts his disapproval. Adrenaline leaving his body, Porthos begins to fade only to snap back alert at the glint of a knife “the hell you doing?” “I’m about to cut your breeches, I need to see to the wound properly” “I ain’t dyin ‘Mis, plenty of time to take ‘em off properly, my leg ain’t gonna fall off in the next few minutes”. Aramis sighs and waits while Porthos undoes his laces but Porthos is exhausted and his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy “oh for goodness sake” Aramis utters and bats Porthos’s hands away. He makes quick work of the laces and eases the breeches down over the wound. Porthos gasps at the movement “What no lewd comment about getting me into my braies?” he laughs through the pain but is startled by Aramis’s lack of responding laugh. “’Mis?” he questions “Aramis?” but Aramis has gone pale and is staring at the wound, hands hovering over it, hands so used to mending now just useless lumps. “Aramis, it’s ok, I’m here, its ok” the hand in his hair brings him out of his reverie. “I am so very sorry my friend” Aramis voice is raw with emotion, unshed tears shining in his eyes. “Hey now, none of that, this ain’t your fault” “but I” “no buts Aramis, so you didn’t take the shot, you ain’t perfect, no one is. Getting hurt, that’s the nature of soldiering” and he pulls Aramis closer to his chest and Aramis doesn’t want to go with the embrace, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve forgiveness or comfort but god he needs it, wants it, craves it so he goes with it and lets himself be cradled and protected by the man he almost lost. 

Some time passes, the embrace relaxes and Porthos has drifted into a light sleep. Loathe to leave the sanctuary of his friends arms Aramis remembers himself and sets to cleaning and binding the wound. When all is done, he rises stiffly, brushing his lips over Porthos forehead, glad to find no fever. He doesn’t want to eat but he can’t remember when he last did and he knows he needs some sustenance if he is to watch over Porthos. He quietly slips out from the room intent on going straight to the kitchen. “Aramis” he hears d’Artagnan call out. The lad looks exhausted; it’s been a long day, day and night, two days? Aramis isn’t sure anymore “How is Porthos?” “Asleep, the wound is remarkably clean considering his ordeal and there is no fever. He has lost some blood though and the leg will be sore for a bit, and Athos? His ribs, are they broken?” “Just the one as far as I could tell. He has gone back to his rooms to lie down until supper. I don’t know how he can wait though, I could eat hairy cheese I am that hungry” d’Artagnan laughs “perhaps he has gone past the point of hunger, I know I have, I was just about to get something though, need to watch Porthos and I think some food is the only way I will stay awake”. Aramis speaks, his voice rough with worry and exhaustion.

d’Artagnan is about to speak when Treville appears by their side, “news from the palace” and Aramis instantly weakens, ears ringing and cold sweat beading in his hairline “the Dauphin’s fever has broken, the child will be fine”. Aramis can’t breathe, can’t quite trust the words he has just heard. He pales visibly and he sways where he stands “Aramis?” both Treville and d’Artagnan call out, reaching for his shoulders to steady him “easy there lad” Treville says softly, a question in his voice “sorry Captain”, Aramis mutters. “Nothing to be sorry for, have you eaten at all since yesterday?” taking in the greenish pallor of his normally healthy looking Spaniard. Aramis swallows convulsively and for a moment all three fear he will be ill. “He was just saying how he needed to get some food” d’Artagnan offers “perhaps if you wouldn’t mind settling Aramis back in with Porthos I can get something light and bring it to the room?” “aye, good idea, and ask Serge to put on a pot of that clear broth, I’m sure Porthos could do with some for later, isn’t that right Aramis?” Treville asks hoping to snap Aramis out of his daze. “Porthos? Hmmm, yes the broth, he has lost some blood, he will need fluids”.

Treville leads Aramis back to the infirmary “I know you worry so, you worry about them all but you need to look after yourself Aramis, you know this. A good soldier needs to keep fed and watered even under the most trying conditions.” Treville’s tone is kind; Aramis is no condition for a harsh lecture. “Porthos makes sure I eat”. Aramis says, almost reverently. “Well it’s a good thing we got him back then, isn’t it?” the captain laughs. 

Afterwards when Aramis has eaten and Porthos has woken long enough to take some broth before falling back to sleep he leaves the infirmary to check on Athos and his ribs. Satisfied that there is indeed just one break, he re-binds Athos’s chest. Less green but still pale Athos looks at him intensely and asks him if he has slept yet. “I have something I need to do first, can you sit with Porthos, I won’t be more than an hour?” “Of course” and Aramis briefly embraces Athos and rushes off. 

He all but runs to the church. He falls to his knees and prays. He prays in Spanish and French and breaks into some Latin. He prays for forgiveness. Forgiveness for his lies to Athos, for not telling Porthos about Anne or the baby. He prays for Isobel and for Adele. Innocents lost. He prays for five other innocents lost by his lapse. He prays for a child he never saw born and for one he will never raise. And he gives thanks for fevers broken and fevers that didn’t take. And thanks for friendships new and old. And he swears to be a better soldier, a better friend. And prays for no more lapses on the battlefield because as god is his witness he can’t protect the Dauphin from illness and he can't watch Porthos fall again but he sure as hell can fight to protect them from harm.


End file.
